


The world forgetting by the world forgot

by luthorial



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Memory Loss, basically its just waverly and nicole being two big gay dumbs and falling in love all over again, esau - Freeform, its an eternal sunshine au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-10 00:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthorial/pseuds/luthorial
Summary: "There's this feeling, this weird déjà vu. It’s less like she’s seen the woman before and more like she’s always been there, lingering in the corner of Nicole’s eye at every party and dinner and walk home."Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind au -After a bad break up waverly chooses to wipe nicole from her memory. Nicole, distraught by this, decides to delete Waverly too. They meet again.





	The world forgetting by the world forgot

**Author's Note:**

> idk who here has watched this movie but the timelines are mega fucked up bro. ive put timestamps where it moves back and forth to try and make it less confusing. This chapter is mostly in the present apart from a little bit at the end.

 

_February 14th 2017_

When Nicole wakes up, it is alone, tangled in cotton sheets on a bed far too big, even for her tall frame. A glass of water sits, unperturbed on the bedside table, protecting the circle underneath it from the inevitable layer of dust that has lined everything else.

The room is quiet. Early morning light streams in through the translucent curtains covering the small window at the foot of Nicole’s bed. The noise of the world waking up drifts in through thin walls. Car horns and small talk act as an alarm clock.

There’s a feeling in the room, or an absence of feeling. It lingers as Nicole shrugs on her uniform, her tired body aching to be back in bed. It feels like swollen lungs, like drowning in a beautiful swimming pool. Golden sunlight beaming through crystal water as the last chance of survival fades away. It feels like losing a limb, the ghost of it still there in years of muscle memory but with nothing to show for it.

The feeling grows as she brushes her teeth. Stains line the small sink in her bathroom. Covering the ceramic, spots of dried toothpaste stay unwiped. Nicole doesn’t know how long they’ve been there. She can’t bring herself to care.

Everything feels heavy. Everything feels dull. 

It’s exhausting.

Yawning, Nicole slowly stretches out her arms. Gradually, she makes her way to the door, throws on her coat and gives her apartment a final once over before leaving.

The door shuts with a deafening click.

*

Dark grey clouds and a faint flutter of snow surround the flat cement train station where Nicole usually gets the shuttle into the city centre, in which the local police station awaits her.

On the platform people stand like statues, their coats an array of colours against the dull background. Each one of them is waiting, wasting their time, shivering and shaking in the bitter wind.

Pulling out her phone, Nicole checks the time. Two minutes until her train.

Across the platform a train pulls in, going the opposite direction. As it stops, metal on metal screeching to a halt, so does Nicole’s heart.

Inevitability settles with the snow, fluttering off her eyelashes. There’s a pull, a magnet attraction that yanks at her chest and slows her breathing. Something is compelling her, an invisible force pushing her body, fate entwining their fingers and whispering temptations in Nicole’s ear.

Her feet move. Slowly at first but then speeding up, one in front of the other. Before she knows it, Nicole is flying across the dull stone ground, her boots slapping against the frozen floor. Wind whips her cheeks and burns her eyes and she laughs as she crosses the bridge.

Exhilaration drips colour into the sky.

The train is warm, in contrast. The people sitting on it look at her like she’s crazy.

Nicole thinks, perhaps, she is.

*

She stays on the train until it stops. She thinks about her work, how Danny is going to have to deal with double the amount of paperwork today, and how she’ll probably have to buy him a bottle of that spiced rum he likes to make up for it. She thinks about her empty apartment. Artwork. That’s what she needs. Or houseplants. Doc had mentioned something about houseplants.

When the train stops Nicole almost falls out of her seat. Thick blankets of snow cloud the window but she can just about make out where she is. Purgatory beach. Not much of a tourist attraction. Come to think of it not much of an attraction at all.

Wrapping her coat tightly around herself, Nicole braces for the outside.

Impulsive decisions aren’t usually her jam, which is why she didn’t bring a scarf or a hat, though she supposes if she did, then the decision would hardly be impulsive at all.

Passing through the barriers, Nicole tucks her hands into her coat sleeves so she doesn’t have to touch the frozen metal. The station leads directly onto the beach, cement merging into pale sand, the ticket office half buried in dunes and years of erosion.

The beach looks like a wedding, white veiled with pristine frost tablecloths, the photo ready background contrasting with any figure in front of it. The wind clangs with the station like church bells.

Stepping onto the beach, Nicole realises that frozen sand isn’t soft and laughs at herself for thinking otherwise. Snow stings her face. She’s pretty sure her nose is as red as her hair.

Her boots tread stiffly, pushing through the blizzard until she finds somewhere to sit. The ground is damp and cold and not comfortable at all but she doesn’t mind. Rolling in and out, the ocean crashes. It’s grey tinged waves engulf themselves as they fall upon the sand and draw back in, as if they are constantly reaching for something they can never have. White foam furiously collects in swirls, a tie dye pattern on a furious fabric.

There’s something solid in the inside pocket of Nicole’s coat, and she pulls it out to see what it is. Her diary sits, worn leather in her hand and she doesn’t remember putting it there. She doesn’t remember moving it from her desk where it’s sat for the past three years.

Opening it curiously, she runs her finger over the pages. There’s a clump of tattered paper by the spine as if pages have been forcibly ripped out. Brow furrowed, Nicole reads the dates. Two whole years’ worth of her diary gone. Her life lost. Just like that.

She doesn’t know who did it, doesn’t really care. Just that it’s been done, and it can’t be undone, and sometimes you regret mistakes before you’ve even made them.

There’s an interruption to the snowstorm, an ink spill on a blank canvas and Nicole squints at the figure passing by in front of her.

It’s a young woman, dressed in a blue puffy coat and a knitted pink beanie. Waterfalls of hair cascade down her shoulders and she shines so bright that her feet seem to melt the snow she walks on.

Or maybe that’s just Nicole, but the woman _is_ beautiful. Radiant even. Her face is one that Nicole expects to see on magazines and posters, not on a deserted beach, at midday in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nicole wishes, for the hundredth time in her life, that she could talk to beautiful women.

She can’t.

She’s never had the courage.

*

Constant clacking of rails keeps Nicole’s eyes open on the train journey back. The carriage she’s in is empty, aside from an old man sleeping at the back, his body hunched over and a shopping bag loosely hanging from his limp hand, and the girl from the beach.

Nicole sits at the front of the carriage, her bum going numb in the barely padded, awfully patterned seat. Her fingers feel as if they are defrosting, painful frozen blocks where her hands used to be. Her face is still damp from melted snow and her hair frizzes.

Leaning her head against the window, she closes her eyes as her forehead vibrates against the glass, summoning an inevitable headache.

There’s movement behind her and Nicole opens her eyes warily, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. Turning around, she finds the woman from the beach smiling.

“Hey.”

The woman is looking at her. Nicole blinks. The woman is still looking at her. “Hey?”

Getting up the woman smiles. “Do you mind if I move closer?”

Nicole shakes her head. “No.”

“Thank you.” The woman shuffles, shimmying her body from out of the seats she was previously stationed in and slowly moving to capture the seat in front of Nicole.

“How can I help you?” Nicole asks politely.

“I don’t know.” The woman grins, and it flashes like lightning in a storm. “Are you suggesting I need help?”

“N-no.” Stammering Nicole shifts her body so that she can fully face the woman. “I just thought you might need something, seeing how you moved and all.”

Glimmering, the woman’s eyes dance with mirth. “And you’re willing to give me this something?”

Nicole shifts, not knowing what to say. “I’m willing to do what I can.”

The woman’s face changes, a small smile tugging on her lips at the response. “Maybe I’m here for conversation.” She offers.

“I’d be happy to provide that.”

“What else are you providing?”

“I guess you’ll have to stick around and see.”

The woman’s face is blank, slowly forming a smile. “I like you.” She says, bluntly. “Where are you headed to?”

“Outer Purgatory.”

“No kidding!” The woman laughs. “Me too.” She leans forward, arching her body over the seats so that she’s much closer to Nicole. Her face is perfect, honey tan blending with hazel eyes. She squints. “I feel like I know you.”

Nicole knows the feeling, this weird déjà vu. It’s less like she’s seen the woman before and more like she’s always been there, lingering in the corner of Nicole’s eye at every party and dinner and walk home. “I don’t know.” Is what she says.

“Do you ever go to Shorty’s?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well that must be it!” The woman’s eyes light up. “I work there.”

“I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered you.”

“Well that’s all I can think of.” The woman shrugs.

Nicole sighs. “Maybe it is that, though I’m tired, so my memory might not be working right.”

“Well,” Extending her arm over the seats, the woman grins. “Nice to meet ya Tired, I’m Waverly.”

“Waverly.” Nicole repeats, mostly to herself. It fits. The name slots perfectly into a gap in the woman’s image, a necessary fact that she is, and always will be, Waverly.

“Yep.” Waverly sits up straighter in her seat, her curls swaying as she does. “Waverly. No jokes about the name please.”

“I think it’s a lovely name.” Nicole is earnest in her response.

“It’s unique.” Waverly rolls her eyes. “In my family, it’s traditional to have a name that starts with W and let me tell you,” she grins, “after ‘Winthrop’ they really start running out of ideas.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Winthrop.” Nicole grins.

“They almost called me _Welcome_.” Waverly stage whispers.

“My condolences.” Nicole bows her head. “I was nearly called April but I don’t think that’s half as bad. I’m actually Nicole by the way.”

“Well, ‘Actually Nicole’,” Waverly winks, “April’s cute, not quite as good as August but I reckon you could work with it.”

“What’s so good about August?”

Grinning, Waverly leans forward against the seat. “My birthday’s in August. That means August is the best month.”

“I see.” Nicole raises an eyebrow. “But that’s opinion based. It’s subjective.”

“Everything’s subjective.” Waverly raises an eyebrow.

“Ah.” Nicole leans forward, happily caught in the fast pace of the conversation, the quick push and pull of words sweeping her up in a riptide and dragging her out to Waverly. “But what about fact.”

“What about God?”

“You’re just spewing out nonsense now.”

“I might be, but it’s working.”

“I have a feeling you could make anything work.”

Waverly flushes at the compliment, leaning back a little with her hands braced on the top of the train seat. “You don’t know me.”

Nicole flushes now, her cheeks glowing hot in the cold carriage, melting into the air around her. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Okay.” Deflated, Nicole slumps back into her seat. She picks at the threads holding the small amount of padding in, wrapping strings around her fingers so tightly that they start to go blue.

“Not like that.” Softness laces into Waverly’s voice as she leans forward again. “I mean you could.”

“Could what?” Nicole speaks quieter too now, like they’re suddenly in a blanket fort, hiding from the world, talking in hushed voices to ensure that it’s only the two of them. No interruption.

“Know me.” Waverly shrugs. “I have half a bottle of whiskey and some crappy television at home if you wanted to come back. No pressure though. It’s just cold and horrible and I like to make new friends.”

“I think,” Nicole hesitates, looking at Waverly’s eyes and seeing rivers of hope, “I think that sounds lovely.” She says.

It surprises her a little, but she completely means it.

*  
Waverly’s place is homely.

Nicole is expecting maybe an apartment just on the outskirts of the city, one bedroom, eccentric but neat. Instead she is faced with a house. A house with an impressive driveway and an old-style post box. Dirt creeps its way up wooden columns, momentarily entwining nature with peeling paint.

Following Waverly, Nicole walks past crooked fences and over the dirt to the wooden porch, where Waverly fumbles in her bag for keys. Eventually, she unlocks the door, and it creaks mournfully as it reveals the house behind it.

“Home sweet home.” She mutters, flicking a switch and bathing the room in a dim yellow light. There’s a young naivety that hangs in the air, dancing in between the cobwebs that sit tauntingly in the top corners of the living room.

“I like your house.” Nicole offers a smile. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s been in the family for generations.” Waverly shrugs. “Sorry it’s so messy right now, my sister’s kind of a slob.” 

“ _I heard that!”_ Comes a voice from another room, teasingly angry.

Waverly freezes, her face pulled into a grimace. Apologetically, she looks up at Nicole. “I didn’t think she’d be home I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for wha-” Before she can finish, movement from the doorway grabs her attention and she looks up to see an incredibly pretty brunette stroll in, staring at her phone. She’s wearing a long dark sweater that ends mid-thigh, but has been somewhat hooked around a gun holster, so it bunches up around her waist. Nicole almost rolls her eyes at the lack of subtlety. The threat is obvious.

“Hey Waves who’s this.” The woman says without even looking up.

“Nicole.” Nicole steps forwards, offering her hand.

The woman drops her phone. It happens almost in slow motion. The word ‘Nicole’ slithers into the air and her head snaps up, her fingers becoming loose as the devices slowly gives in to gravity. Her eyes widen and her mouth tries to say something but fails, clamping shut again. Nicole’s hand stays out. Waiting.

Then she regains her posture. “Wynonna.” She says, indifferent. Picking up her phone, she wipes it on her trousers and spins, dark curls flicking out behind her. “Don’t have sex on the couch.”

“We’re going for a walk!” Waverly shouts after her.

“We are?!” Nicole’s eyebrows knit together as Waverly grabs her hand and drags her to the doorway.

“Of course.” Grinning, Waverly lifts their joined hands. “Unless you don’t want to. I just thought it would be nice to get some fresh air. And you know,” She tilts her head to where Wynonna had just stalked off. “Some privacy.”

The wink that follows is equal parts cute and sexy, and it makes Nicole’s heart feel like it’s full of helium. She grins, “Did I mention that I love to walk.”

*

It’s dark outside, the clear sky making way for a bitter cold. The trees are illuminated, their crystal coating glimmers and they rustle softly in the quiet breeze. It sounds almost like music.

If Nicole was more of a sap she’d ask Waverly to dance, she thinks.

They arrive at a lake. Dusty snow lies all over the glass surface, frozen by the harsh winter. Looking like a marble statue in the clear moonlight, Waverly turns to Nicole, smiling softly. “Me and my sisters used to skate on this lake when we were little.”

Gazing wistfully across the flat landscape that disappears into a faraway forest, Nicole imagines Waverly younger, happy, giggling as she slides along ice in a cold-hearted sun. She feels her lips tug up too. Her mind clicks on to something. “Sisters?”

Sighing, Waverly wonders forwards, so her feet just touch the ice. “I don’t know why I said that you just-” She hesitates. “There’s something about you. I trust you already. Is that weird?”

“No.” Nicole breathes.

“I had an older sister.” Waverly shrugs. “She’s dead now, not much to say.”

“Waverly I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Waverly’s tone is as bitter as the sharp air that spikes its way through Nicole’s coat. “She wasn’t very nice.”

“Still,” Nicole muses. “It’s still loss. You’re still allowed to grieve people who hurt you.”

Turning away, Waverly hides her shimmering eyes and sniffles slightly. Her breath billows out in perfect white clouds as she speaks. “Come with me.”

Nicole watches in astonishment as Waverly starts to tread on the frozen surface of the lake, moving further and further out into the blank expanse.

“Waverly.” Nicole’s voice wavers. “I don’t think this is safe.”

“Oh come on!” Waverly shouts, and she’s smiling, her cheeks pink. “I’ve only fallen through once before.”

It’s a joke. Nicole _hopes_ it’s a joke. Tentatively, she steps onto the ice, boot sliding slightly. “If we die…” She trails off.

“Then we die together!” Waverly teases. “Isn’t that what romance is about?”

“I think it’s more about living together.”

“I think it’s abo- ouch!” Waverly slips over so suddenly that she hits the ice with a horrifying crack.

“Waverly!” Forgetting to care about the ice, Nicole runs over, half slipping with every step and she’s sure she looks like some sort of clumsy baby penguin. She doesn’t care.

Starting to giggle, Waverly sits up. “My ass is so sore!”

“Shit Waverly.” Nicole breathes a sigh of relief. “Thought you were a goner.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waverly winks, before extending her arm. “Help me up?” She smiles sweetly.

Reaching out, Nicole takes Waverly’s hand only to be yanked hard down onto the ice with her. She winces as she hits the snow, listening for any cracks. “Should have seen that one coming.”

“You really should’ve.” Waverly laughs. Their hands are still joined, warm palms melting against snow. They lie, side by side, pressed up against each other as they watch the stars rotate.

“Tell me a constellation?” Waverly whispers. “Please.”

“I don’t know any.”

“Make one up.”

“Right.” Nicole points at a cluster of stars that looks sort of like a gun. “See that one? That’s Jacob’s pistol.”

“I don’t see it.” Waverly shuffles closer.

“Look right there.” Nicole points at the cluster of stars, that, in reality, look nothing like a pistol and grins.

Squinting for a moment, Waverly gives up and lightly slaps Nicole on the shoulder. “You’re full of shit.” She laughs.

“Technically everyone is.” Nicole points out, which only causes Waverly to shove her again.

“Nicole eww.”

*

When Nicole finally goes home she eyes the number Waverly scrawled across her arm. Picking up the phone, she dials, her heart feeling so full. Waverly picks up on the first ring. “ _What took you so long?_ ”

Nicole chuckles. “I only just got home.”

“ _Well,_ ” Waverly laughs too, quietly, “ _Did you miss me?_ ”

“Oddly enough… I did.”

*

_February 7 th 2017_

Nicole is cramped in her car. The windows are small, shut, not letting enough air in. She is suffocating slowly, tear streaked cheeks cutting off her air supply and the dark all intoxicating.

Slamming her hand against the steering wheel in frustration, she chokes back a sob. She shouldn’t have said that. She shouldn’t have said that.

Her heart beat is shallow and erratic and empty, and her lungs collapse with every cry that shakes through her body. She wants to go home. God how badly she wants to go home.

But home isn’t a place it’s a person. It’s quiet coffee in the morning and stacks of books over wooden floors. It’s waking up with her. It’s this strange scent that only occurs when you mix coconut scented shampoo with apple scented conditioner.

Home is Waverly.

And Nicole might never be able to go home again.

**Author's Note:**

> im over @ waverlyrp.tumblr.com


End file.
